Thanatophobia
by Disasterbate
Summary: After a failed suicide attempt, Chris must learn to put his past behind him and come out a stronger man than ever before.
1. Alone I Break

_Hello readers. It's been years since I have uploaded anything. I hit a multi year writers block. It wasn't until my favorite show convinced me to attempt writing again last Summer. It was nothing but drabbles really, but I received some pretty good reception. It was something I had waited to hear for a really long time. I partially doubted my writing ability and to top it off, I was stuck for ideas and had nothing to write about. However, I decided to sit myself down and start this idea I had. In the years since I last posted, my life has changed greatly. I matured, had major life changing events, and began my own life as I am now out on my own as an adult. I really want Thanatophobia to turn out to not just be the greatest thing I have written as of now, but also to show how much I have matured as a person. With that being said, I hope my hiatus can be forgiven and that you will enjoy Thanatophobia as it unfolds._

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The living room of the apartment was a mess. Various empty bottles of beer were strewn across the floor and the distinct stench of vomit was not too distant. Smoke drifted like a hazy cloud throughout the room, rising slowly towards the ceiling from the filled ashtray on the coffee table. Placed beside the ashtray was a loaded handgun, a Beretta 92F, courtesy of Raccoon City's finest. Chris Redfield was strewn out on the couch. Dark bags were under his puffy eyes, hair disheveled, five o'clock shadow growing in, and a cigarette was loosely hung between his lips. The decorated officer and BSAA co-founder sat at the end of the line; a drunken mess and a shadow of his former self.

A timeline could show a life of horror, death, loss, and misery in Chris. The mansion and Raccoon City incidents of '98 would be the first scratches on the surface of a downward spiral in episodes of bioterrorism. You could watch a million horror movies but never expect that someday the dead would actually walk again. Chris hated the term "zombie" but deep down knew it was the most accurate way to describe them. After over close to two decades of fighting various other bioterrorism incidents, Chris suffered the ultimate loss in 2013 after the complete and utter destruction of his team in Lanshiang, China, which included the death of close ally and friend Piers Nivans. He wanted him to remain in the BSAA and pull through. Years of depression pulled Chris down into a dark and deep hole he couldn't crawl out of.

It was 2015 now. Chris had tried to honor the request of Piers to stay strong and work things through. Two years had passed since the outbreak in China and now, while still in business with the BSAA, remained in the dark and deep hole. It was as if that hole was now his grave and on the outside of the hole, someone stood with a shovel, filling the hole back in for good. The Beretta sitting on the coffee table before him never looked so inviting. Chris forced himself to sit back up, though slumped, and tried to focus his eyes on the gun through the haze of smoke and booze. He leaned forward, resting one elbow on his leg and picked up the gun with his free hand. Posted nearby on the table was the letter he wrote out earlier that night. It would be the last thing people would read from him. The clock currently read 9:48. It was dark out and his roommate would be home soon from the BSAA HQ. He was sorry they would have to come home to the mess he would leave behind, but he decided it would be best not stall. No use waiting and after thinking things over in his messy state, decided he was ready. The handgun was taunting him.

Taking one final drag from the cigarette, Chris took it from his lips and extinguished it in the ashtray. Turning the gun around towards himself, he stared down the barrel momentarily, putting both hands on the grip. It was intimidating, but he didn't want to waste the time thinking about it. All it would take is one second and a single shot and it would be over. Slowly, Chris brought the gun closer to his face, opening his mouth and placing the barrel inside. His finger lingered by the trigger and hesitated there. All it would take is one second….

_Do it._

The intoxication stopped Chris from being able to hear the keys turning in the lock of the front door, the gun firmly stuck in his mouth. He was stalling. Jill Valentine pushed the door open and a look of confusion formed on her face as she first noticed the smoke. It only took a few moments for Jill to spot Chris on the couch, his finger anxiously near the trigger of the beretta. Quickly shutting the door, she dropped her purse and ran over to him.

"Chris!" she practically screamed, ripping the gun out of his hands and ejecting the clip.

Tears streamed down from the mans eyes as he looked over at Jill through his hazy vision. He opened his mouth to speak but closed it when Jill's strong hands gripped his shoulders, shaking him roughly.

Distressed and voice shaking, she stared Chris down, eyes wide. "What the hell do you think you're doing? This is NOT what you want!"

"You don't know what I want, Jill! YOU DON'T", he screamed back at her, his voice slurred. But surrendering to Jill's grip, he slumped back into the comfort of the couch. If he couldn't have his way, the next thing he wanted was the warmth of a familiar spot to calm down. Jill took a deep breath and sighed. Slowly she let go of Chris' shoulders and rubbed at her temples. Taking a look around the room, Jill took in the appearance of the living rooms current state. A mess. Jill wandered over to the window and opened it up, hoping to air out the smoke. Putting her hands on her hips, she turned back to Chris.

"Chris Redfield, it's almost ten o'clock...Before we cause a scene and wake up our neighbors, get your ass up right now. I'm taking you to the E.R."

He didn't move. At most, he tilted his head towards her to acknowledge her words. "Jill…" he slurred out in a moan. "Please no…"

"I'm sorry," she said, walking back over to him and placing his arm around her shoulder to help him stand, "but I'm not giving you a choice." Chris reluctantly stood with shaky legs and drooped his head down, staring at the floor and letting out another sob. Jill lead him back to the door and opened it up, scooping her purse back up as she neared it, and guided Chris down to the car. He was heavy, but Jill managed. Opening the door for him, Chris slunk down into the passengers seat, rolling his head back into the corner where the window and head of the seat nearly met and shut his eyes. Jill was momentarily in the drivers seat beside him and helped buckle the drunken man back in. He obviously would not cooperate.

Turning the key in the ignition, Jill paused, turning her head back towards him and gave him a somber look. It was quiet outside. A Wednesday night, most people would be home by now. Sighing, she pushed back some of her brown hair, tucking it behind her ears. It took a moment of silence before she spoke.

"Chris, look at me…"

Another long moment passed before he turned his head back towards Jill. All that illuminated his face was the light looming in from a nearby streetlamp. But through the dark, Jill could read his expression like an open book. One that seemed lost and hopeless. She had seen variants of the expression before, but never so powerful as now. Her own face turned to a look of worry. She placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't think for a single moment that nobody isn't going to help you get through this mess, okay?"

She paused.

"Chris, we've been through this dozens of times. We've been through a lot together. Don't give up on me now, you understand?"

Slowly, Chris Redfield, once powerful and strong willed, merely shook his head. With what he could still muster, he only replied:

"I'm scared…"

There was nothing Jill could say in response. Quietly, she turned her attention back to the front of the car, and pushed down on the pedal, taking off for the hospital.


	2. Dear Agony

Chris opened his eyes, only to be greeted by an overwhelming white light. He felt his head spinning from all alcohol he had consumed the previous night and the overwhelming light wasn't helping. As he regained his consciousness, he managed to figure out his location. Currently laying in hospital bed wearing the plain patient scrubs. Nothing felt more bland to Chris than the plain white walls of a sterile hospital room. Looking of to his side, he spotted Jill laying awkwardly back into one of the nearby chairs, her eyes closed. Thinking back to last night, Chris recalled Jill yelling at him when she walked in the door. She must have brought him here.

Groggy with fatigue, Chris brought himself to speak up, "Jill," he whispered.

The chair must not have been comfortable enough to sleep in as she instantly sat up to face him when she heard his voice. Her face relaxed and she sat forward, scooting the chair towards him.

"You're finally awake. How are you feeling?" Jill said.

He did not want to be here, his head hurt from his hangover, and he damned himself for not taking that shot sooner.

Chris shut his eyes and faced forward again. "I feel like shit".

Jill brought her hands together and leaned forward, lowering her gaze down to the floor. "Chris I need to know...If I had come home later than I had, would you really have pulled that trigger?" The room sat in silence for a few moments. She was about ready to take his silence for an answer, when Chris finally spoke up.

"I would have."

"Chris," Jill sighed, "if anybody understands all that you have gone through in all these years its me and I hope you would realize that. I've gone through the same struggle." She turned back up to look at the man in front of her. "I'm going to help you through this, okay?"

Chris turned his head to look at Jill. He knew Jill for a long time. If anybody knew Chris best, it was her. Jill Valentine was his partner for life. Deep down he knew that she would be there to help him. However, the decision to end one's life is not one that comes easily. Chris carried a lot on his shoulders since the era of bioterrorism began. Even the mightiest will meet their inevitable fate. Chris only wished it came sooner than for most. He nodded in response to Jill.

Jill managed a faint smile and sat up in her seat. "Good. Now listen, I know work is the last thing you want to talk about right now, but the BSAA has been contacted. They know you are here, and they have cleared you to be on leave until you've recovered. You are going to have to stay another night here, but the doctor thinks you will be fine in the morning. He checked on you this morning and will be back around one, so try to stay awake."

Chris sat up in the hospital bed and groaned, rubbing his face. "Another night," he mumbled. It was more of a statement. "Not a fan of hospitals."

"I think most people will agree with you there. It's for your own good."

Chris sighed and Jill leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms over her chest. "But when you get out, theres something you are going to do," Jill stated.

One of Chris' eyebrows quirked up. "And what's that?"

"You can't sit around and do nothing while you are on leave. Since you attempted suicide, you need professional help. We're signing you up with a therapist," she said firmly. "You aren't getting out of this". Jill Valentine, Chris' friend and co-worker since 1996, was as strong of a woman as they came. Chris knew he would be in a world of trouble if he dared argue against her, but-

"Therapy, Jill?" Chris said, his voice filled with annoyance.

A frown formed across Jill's face. "Yes, therapy," she stated, "and I've called Claire as well. She's flying in from New York tomorrow and going to be staying in DC for a bit to make sure you don't do anything stupid."

Chris rubbed a large hand across his face, "You told Claire? Jesus Jill, who else knows?"

"Nobody, Chris," Jill said, voice stern, "Only Claire and a few higher ups at work are aware. Claire's worried shitless about you."

"She doesn't need to be, Jill…"

Jill raised her eyebrows. "According to you, you would have pulled that trigger had I not found you. We are all worried."

Chris turned back to face the wall, taking a deep breath and shutting his eyes momentarily. "Okay I'll see the therapist…" Chris mumbled, rubbing the back of his head, still burning from his hangover. If only the bed was more comfortable, the white walls were darker, and the light pouring in from the window not as intense. He was surprised he woke up at all.

A sigh of relief came from Jill. "Thank you, Chris. It means a lot to everything that you are healthy and happy. You'll get through this," she said, sitting up. "I went back to the apartment this morning to clean it up. It was pretty messy...and I uh...I found the letter you left on the table."

Chris was silent. He briefly recalled writing it before he started drinking. He had struggled with alcoholism in the past, but suffered a relapse in the past month. "You read it" he said softly, his voice distant.

Jill looked down at the floor again and stared for a moment before looking back up at him. "I did," she said quietly, "Chris, don't ever break my heart like that again. Last night I thought I was going to lose my best friend, and I haven't been that scared in a long time. Seeing you with a gun in your mouth…I'm just glad I got there when I did".

Tears silently fell from Chris' eyes. This would be the second time in twenty four hours. Unusual for a man like Chris. He put his hands up to shield his eyes, not wanting to be seen by Jill. His partner was watching him, mirroring the silence. It went on until Chris finally let out a sniffle and Jill moved closer, gently placing a hand on his arm, rubbing it gently. "I'm sick of losing people, Jill...I can't take it anymore. I'm terrified," he cried out.

"I know, Chris, I know…"

Roughly five minutes passed until the large man was able to regain his composure. He needed a good cry. Rubbing his eyes, he exhaled deeply. "Jill, I just need to rest for a while," he said, his voice shaky from crying.

Jill pulled back and stood. "That would probably be best. I'll come by to check on you after the doctor leaves, alright?"

Chris nodded in response.

Jill grabbed her purse and affectionately put a hand to his shoulder before heading for the door. Before Chris could do so much as blink, she was out the door, leaving him alone. Laying back in the bed, he wiped away the last of his tears, shutting his eyes again and waited for the doctor to come.

…

_Jill, when you walk through the door, I hope you find the letter. You will definitely find me first. I'm sorry. I couldn't handle things anymore. It became too much to handle. After China, I thought I would finally be able to move on with my life and put things behind me. But I guess not. You proved to be the strongest in the end and I always admired that about you. Please tell Claire I love her. I'll look out for you two from above. _

_Goodbye_

…


	3. Human Sadness

_Thanks for all the positive reception so far. As you saw at the start of the first chapter, this is my first attempt at serious writing in years. I greatly appreciate any and all comments/reviews and constructive criticism. If you like what you have read so far, send it to others! As a side note, there has been a small tweak with chapter one. But only in chapter title. I am swapping it in for this chapters title and renaming the first. _

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Chris couldn't be more relieved when he awoke the following morning to hear from the doctor he was being released. After changing out of his scrubs back into his old clothes given back by one of the nurses, Chris headed out of his room to the front entrance of the hospital where he found Jill sitting in one of the various lobby chairs. Sitting next to Jill was his younger sister Claire, who was engaged in a conversation with her. Annoyance sat in the back of Chris' head. When Jill told him that Claire was going to be flying in today, he had at least figured he would have time to go home and relax first. He knew he was in for a good lecture. Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward to approach them.

With Jill's back to Chris, Claire noticed him first. Taking her look away from Jill, Claire beamed up at Chris and stood, prompting Jill to take notice of him as well. "Chris, thank God you're okay…" Claire said, pulling her brother into a tight hug. "It's so good to see you." Chris gently put an arm back around her smaller frame and hugged her back momentarily until she let go. Taking a step back, Claire sighed, Jill standing up beside her. A small smile formed over Chris' face. "Its good to see you too. Sorry it has to be under these circumstances though," he replied, "I didn't want anybody to worry."

Claire rolled her eyes, "Right. After the stunt you pulled you thought nobody would worry?"

"Claire, we haven't even left the hospital yet, can this wait until we get back?" Chris sighed.

Letting out a huff, Claire shook her head and looked back to Chris. "Alright...I know you must be tired. Let's get going." Claire looked back at Jill, who gave a quick nod in response and headed towards the front doors, the Redfield siblings following behind. Chris was glad to have finally gotten out of the hospital. He figured the fresh air of the outside world would be a nice change. Glancing up at the sky, he was immediately greeted by clouds with darker ones laid out in the distance. Claire must have had just missed the impending storm. Upon reaching the car, Chris got back into the passengers seat, buckled up, and laid his head against the window. Jill entered the drivers seat and Claire behind her in the back.

Pulling out of the hospital parking lot, Jill began the drive back to the apartment. "Last night Claire asked about hotels near us, but I told her there was no need for that," Jill said once they were out on the road. "She's going to be sleeping in my room. Either one of us can take the couch, or we share a bed for a few nights. I'll leave that up to you."

"We can discuss this later," Chris said sternly, rubbing his forehead. "I'm just tired. Claire, I wasn't expecting you to be here until tonight."

Jill frowned, her focus staying on the road.

Claire shifted in her seat, looking over to Chris. "Well when I get a phone call like I did the other night, I figured I needed to be here right away. But I know you're tired. When we get to the apartment I am taking off to take care of some errands. I got my rental car, so I'll be out of the way for a bit".

"That's fine." Chris said quietly. "And you aren't in the way. I was just a bit caught off guard." Claire smiled back at her elder brother. "I know. My coming here was kind of sudden. Just don't do something like this again and it won't be a concern. I love you, Chris."

Shutting his eyes and crossing his arms over his chest, Chris spoke up softly. "I love you too."

Claire reached up from her seat and gave him a pat on the shoulder before sitting back again. It was a short ten minute drive back to the apartment. Back up in the sky, the dark clouds had loomed closer. Give or take another hour, it looked that it would start pouring. Getting out of the car with Jill and Claire, Chris looked up at the sky again. He let out a small chuckle. Funny that the weather seemed to reflect his mood.

In the parking spot next to them sat a shiny new Honda. Claire's rental car. She approached the car, fishing out the key from her jacket pocket and glanced back at Jill and Chris. "I'll be back in a bit. Chris, get some rest if you can. Jill, do you need me to pick anything up from the store while I'm out?" she asked, unlocking the drivers seat door and opening it. Chris headed over to the door of the apartment. Jill locked up her own car and waved the younger Redfield sibling off. "Oh no," she responded, "I'm good, thanks. I'd try hurrying if you can though. Traffics going to get crazy soon." As Jill headed after Chris to the door, Claire let out a laugh.

"Jill, you don't know traffic until you've lived in the Big Apple." Jill smiled and Claire waved over to them, getting in the car. "I'll see you two soon". Chris and Jill watched as she drove out of sight and Jill afterwards unlocked the front door of the apartment, both of them stepping inside. Chris shut the door behind themselves upon entering and looked awkwardly around the living room. Jill left his sight into the kitchen.

From where he stood in the doorway, Chris spotted the Beretta 92F sitting on the coffee table. Glancing towards the kitchen to see if Jill could see him, Chris took a deep breath and approached the couch. Taking a seat on the middle cushion, Chris leaned forward to scoop up his old handgun and leaned back once it sat in his hands. He shut his eyes.

_Do it. _

Opening his mouth, Chris placed the gun inside again. This time, there were no interruptions. With a loud bang, the bullet shot through the inside of his head, dark blood instantly spraying the wall behind him.

Jill turned the corner, looking into the doorway from the kitchen. "Chris? Are you okay?" Chris, staring at the couch, was forced out of his imagination. The couch was free of any blood and the coffee table was clear of any gun, cigarettes, empty bottles of beer or a suicide note. Quickly he looked back at Jill and instantly moved away from the door. "Y-yeah, I'm fine. Just kind of spaced off for a moment…" he blurted out. Jill shrugged and turned back into the kitchen. "Just saw you were there for good minute not really doing anything. Anyways, anything you feel like having for dinner?" Jill asked, opening the fridge and sifting through it. Chris stretched his arms and leaned against the wall nearest the fridge. "Just text Claire and ask what she wants. I'm not really hungry," he answered.

"Well you need to eat something," Jill said, poking Chris in the chest. "It'll help keep your mood up. And I'm sure you know by now that hospital food sucks."

"Barely touched it."

"Proving my point further," Jill stated. "But if you're really not picky, I'll go ahead and text Claire." Jill closed the refrigerator and turned to face him. Aside from being sober, he looked the same as he did when Jill found him. His hair was a mess, his five o'clock shadow slowly turning into more of a beard, and his eyes showed he hadn't slept a lot lately. "Yeah, just text her when you get the chance," said Chris. "And lets figure out the sleeping arrangements since you brought it up earlier."

Though the apartment was two bedrooms, it was pretty small. Given Chris and Jill's closeness and job, they decided upon Chris' return from China to save on money by renting a small apartment together not too far away from the BSAA headquarters. Though it cost them more per month, they settled for separate rooms instead of one.

"Finally ready to talk about that?" Jill quizzed.

"I didn't want to talk about it earlier because I thought Claire might say something about us sleeping together."

Jill grinned. "Worried you're little sister would tease you, you big lug?"

"No," Chris responded flatly, standing up straight away from the wall.

"Oh fine, I was just teasing. Anyways, Claire is getting my room because the couch is really uncomfortable to sleep on and your room is almost always messy to some extent," she explained.

"Do you want me to sleep on the couch? You take my bed?" Chris responded. Jill quickly interjected. "No," she responded harshly. Chris raised his hands in defense, raising an eyebrow at her. "Sorry," she sighed. "Didn't come out right. Don't sleep on the couch. If anyone sleeps there, it's me."

"Whatever you say, Jill," Chris said softly, lowering his hands. "Just figured you would be more comfortable on my bed is all. Like you said, the couch isn't comfortable. I think we can handle sleeping together for a few days while Claire is here. You actually have to work still, so you'll want good rest."

"Suppose that's true," Jill pondered, smiling a bit. "Thank you. But that reminds me... Claire and I looked up nearby psychiatric offices when she brought her things back from the airport. We found one about two miles away that seemed like a good match, so I went ahead and got your first appointment set up for tomorrow evening. Luckily there was a spot open we could get you in soon."

"Oh" he mumbled simply in response, rubbing the back of his head.

"Don't forget you agreed to this, Chris," Jill warned.

Chris sighed, "Don't worry, I know." Despite the fact he didn't want to go, he held onto his better judgement. "I'll get the directions from Claire in the morning."

Jill pulled out her cell phone. "Good. That sounds like a plan. I'm going to go ahead and text her. You don't look too good right now, so get some rest. I'll come find you when we have dinner ready." she said, leaning against the nearby countertop and beginning the search through her phone contacts.

With a bed as uncomfortable as those in the hospital, Chris was more than happy to get his long awaited rest. The comfort of his own bed usually brought him comfort, but now if he could sleep, he figured it would grant him peace. Solace in the silence of his room, alone. He turned away from the kitchen and headed to the end of the hall. At the end of the corridor were two doors. The left leading to Jill's room and the right to Chris'. Opening to door on the right, Chris lazily shifted his way inside, shutting the door behind him. Unlike Jill's, his room was fairly uninviting. The blinds were closed and a pile of clothes sat in the corner, and on his bedside table sat an ashtray complemented by a pack of cheap menthols.

Sitting himself on his bed, Chris shut his eyes tightly, attempting to hold in his composure. The mess in the living room was cleaned spotless, and he had no idea where she had hidden the Beretta. It was most likely tucked away somewhere in Jill's room, where Chris would have no hope of finding it on his own. He rubbed his hands over his face in an attempt to relax and laid back across his bed, staring up at the ceiling.

Thinking back to the note he left for Jill, he hoped she wouldn't catch onto his lie at the end. Saying he would look over her and Claire from above implied he believed in God. That when he died, he would go to Heaven. Regardless of what is said about those who commit suicide, Chris no longer believed in God. While violence and terrorism has been around since the dawn of civilization, what God would allow that? One that let the monsters of the world have the capability to turn innocent people into the living dead, which would destroy entire cities with tens or hundreds of thousands of people. That the norm of global terrorism was now conducted with bioweapons. That when trying to combat the evil, God allowed for Chris' own men to be decimated and brutally murdered before him, unable to help in time. The power to save a life was always just barely out of reach, taunting him with each life taken.

For the third time in the week, Chris allowed tears to fall from his eyes. He didn't care that it made him feel weaker every time he did. Sniffling, Chris reached over for the pack of cigarettes. He slid one out of the half empty carton and lit it, putting it to his lips and pulling the smoke into his lungs. Twenty years of experience aside, you don't get thrown into complete life or death missions like this time and time again and come out clean every time. If God did exist, he sure had a strange sense of humor to allow him to still be alive after all this time.

But Jill was right, he needed sleep. That would help. Allowing himself to relax and finish off the cigarette, he placed the butt back in the ashtray once finished and shifted back on his bed, kicking off his shoes and lazily pulling the blankets back over him. Rubbing at his eyes to remove any trace of tears, Chris took a deep breath and shut his eyes, hoping that sleep would grant him the comfort he desired, at least for a while.


	4. The Truth

_This was originally supposed to be a much longer chapter, but I decided it might be nicer if the majority of the chapters stayed within a relatively close word count. Plus some personal things came up that made writing this chapter take much longer. I hope you will enjoy!_

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If it wasn't the complete downpour outside that woke Chris back up, it was was light from the hallway from his now open door the knocking that accompanied it. Shifting around through the blankets, Chris lazily turned his head towards the doorway to see Jill standing in the entrance. "Chris," Jill said softly, "why don't you come on out. Claire and I got dinner ready now."

He forced himself upright and tossed the blanket aside, rubbing his eyes in an attempt to wake back up. "Alright. What did you make?" Chris mumbled, standing slowly. He took note of the rain outside and wondered how long he had been asleep. It didn't seem that the rain would be dying down anytime soon. Jill leaned in the doorway, her form casting a shadow from the light into his room. "It's just pasta," she said, "but we waited a while to make it so you could get some sleep first."

Chris nodded in response and stood lazily. "That's okay. Pasta sounds good." Stretching out his arms, Chris looked around the floor of his room momentarily, taking note of it's messy state before looking back to Jill, a slight smile forming on his face. "You go on ahead. I can't have you sleeping in my room in it's current mess…" he said. Jill simply smirked, turning away from the door. "Take your time."

As Jill left, Chris turned, facing the mess of his room and began picking up the clothes strewn about, putting them in his laundry basket. The sound of the rain outside was loud but strangely comforting. Chris made his way over to the window sitting above his bed, sliding it open and allowing for the fresh air to make its way inside, also allowing him to hear the rain better. Despite his mood, the rain and his nap did help some. Fixing the rest of the mess around his room, he made his way out towards the kitchen nook. Jill and Claire sat at the table, at the beginnings of their meal. Plain old pasta, just as Jill had said. Sitting at the table, Chris filled the last empty plate, dumping a copious amount of sauce over it.

"Hey, Claire," he said, voice unenthusiastic. "Smells good".

Claire twirled her fork around on the plate, gathering up a bunch of the pasta before taking a bite. "It's as good as it smells, so eat up. Made sure we had plenty leftover incase anybody wanted seconds." Chris, as large and muscular as he was, had always had an appetite as large as himself. Even in their youth as a scrawny kid, Claire had a tendency to pick fun at her elder brother for eating everything in the house. Chris brought the fork up and began eating.

Chris swallowed and furrowed his brows down at his plate, nodding in approval. "Did a good job. What did you have to do earlier?"

"Not a whole lot," Claire sighed, absently toying with the fork, "Just getting some groceries for when I'm here. Stuff like that. Can't be eating everything you have here so I just got some things for myself."

"I told you that we wouldn't mind" Jill politely interjected.

"Jill, I know. Of course I appreciate that, but no matter what I just feel I would be imposing. I don't know how long I am going to need to be here either so-"

Chris jumped into the conversation, irritation flowing through his voice, "Claire, you don't _need _to be here".

Both Jill and Claire quickly turned to face him. "Chris!" Jill quickly stated in surprise and anger. Claire's expression turned to that of confusion and worry as she watched her brother.

In his own sudden anger, Chris dropped the fork back onto the table which landed awkwardly against his plate. While moody, he hadn't expected small things to set him off. But he couldn't stop himself now. Quickly he turned back to Claire, staring down her confused expression. "Claire, I'm sorry. I take that back," he quickly started, "_I _am the one who doesn't need to be here. I _shouldn't _be here."

Claire frowned, her face now showing annoyance. "Don't start this now…"

"Claire, I tried to end my life! Do you think something like that just happens on a fucking whim?" he shouted out. "The last thing I need right now is people surrounding me!"

Raising her hands up in defeat, Claire let out an exasperated sigh, finally turning back to stare her elder brother down. "And you trying to commit suicide is the most damned selfish thing I can think of! You think that will solve your problems? By wiping yourself away from them instead of the issue itself?"

"Claire, you don't know a DAMNED thing about what I have gone through in these last few years!" Chris fumed.

Claire straightened her back, anger washing over her own face. Trying to maintain composure, Claire found herself raising her voice, "You think I don't know?" she questioned, "Since Raccoon City all of our lives have been nothing but a struggle! Never knowing who is going to attack next, never knowing if by some chance of fate I'd wind up in it again. After I joined Terra-Save, I may not have been on the front lines like you, but I still knew what death looked like, Chris!"

"You may have seen death, but you weren't the reason those people died! Can you possibly comprehend what it's like to carry that on your shoulders? Because of me, Piers and everybody else is dead!"

Jill slammed a hand on the table, her gaze staring Chris down. "Chris, that's enough!" she yelled. Both Redfield siblings quickly looked back at Jill. Running a hand through her hair, Jill took a deep breath and lowered her voice. "I know you are upset right now. We both know. But you need to relax, understand?" she demanded, her voice uneven. "It's been a rough few days, but arguing isn't going to get us anywhere or make you feel better."

Annoyance still sat on his features, but Chris stared down at the table, averting his gaze from Jill and Claire. Rubbing a large hand over his face, Chris groaned.

"Claire…" he started, "I'm sorry...I'm just-" he cut himself off, stumbling around for the right word to express himself.

"I know," Claire sighed. "It's fine. We all just need to take a deep breathe. I didn't come all this way to argue with you." Jill nodded in agreement nearby.

Momentary silence filled the room, though it still carried an aura of tension.

"I just miss Piers…" Chris eventually mumbled, breaking the tense atmosphere. Jill took a deep breath from where she sat, but Claire spoke up. "I miss him too…" Her voice was quiet and she turned her gaze down. Again the room was silent.

Moments passed. The three of them sat still, nobody sure of what else they could say. Nothing Jill or Claire could say would bring back the dead and nothing they could say would heal that wound in Chris' psyche, heart, and mind. If only the broken could be so easily mended. "Lets just get back to dinner…" Jill finally spoke up, her voice quiet. And so they did. The rest of their meal was left pretty quiet, nobody really sure on how to recover from the previous argument. Small talk was all anybody could manage.

…

A few hours later, the tension had finally been resolved. Claire and Jill had settled on watching some cheesy action film in order to get in a few laughs. Chris sat out on the back deck by the kitchen nook. The rainstorm outside continued to rage on, but under the shelter of the roof, Chris remained untouched by the weather. He had hoped that upon waking up from his nap, the weather would have kept his mood up. Guilt hit him at the dinner table for his outburst so he had decided to sit outside instead to allow himself to relax. A cigarette hung between his lips as he sat in one of the chairs out on the deck. Taking a drag from the stick, he turned his head when he heard Jill and Claire laughing at something inside. Must have been the movie. Facing forward, he absently watched a puddle down below on the street grow larger as the rain poured on.

Taking another drag off the cigarette, allowing the smoke into his lungs, the door opened up beside him. Claire came into view, sitting herself down in one of the extra chairs beside him. Instantly she rubbed her hands on her arms. "Bit chilly out. Aren't you cold?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at him. "Well unlike you, Claire, I'm wearing a jacket." He responded, a look on his face that screamed 'duh'.

"Okay okay, smartass," Claire rolled her eyes, a smile forming. "Look I'm sorry we had some beef with each other earlier. I don't want to fight with you."

Chris set the cigarette into the ashtray and turned his head to Claire. "I know," he started. "That was out of line...I'm sorry. Just not my finest hour." Claire playfully slugged him in the shoulder. "Wasn't insubordination the reason you were discharged from the Air Force?" She quizzed.

"Pfft. You're hardly my superior, Claire," Chris scoffed in mock annoyance.

"Oh geez I was just teasing. I just came out to say goodnight. It's getting late and it's been a long day." Claire said, looking out into the darkness outside alongside him. "Try to get to bed soon. You'll want to be all nice and ready for your appointment tomorrow."

Chris scratched at the back of his head, and inhaled deeply. "I told Jill I would check the address to the place with you in the morning."

"That's fine," she responded, standing up. "Well I'm heading inside. Freezing out here. I'll see you in the morning."

"Night, Claire," Chris said, turning his head to face her.

"Sleep tight, Chris." Patting Chris on the shoulder, Claire made her way back to the door and stepped back into the apartment, shutting the door back behind her. Through the closed door, he could hear her make a remark about the cold.

With a faint grin, Chris turned his attention back to the ashtray, picking up the cigarette he had set down, allowing himself to finish the rest of it. Despite wishing to go into the kitchen, snag a beer and return back outside, Chris knew he would have to settle for the cigarettes. Jill would only snap at him if he did. To what Chris smoked and drank, Jill did at least half the amount. While Chris could by no means deny his alcoholism, Jill enjoyed social drinking. For every cigarette Jill smoked, Chris had downed one pack. As with drinking, Jill only really socially smoked. And on the rare occasion, to calm herself down.

Finishing his own smoke, Chris stood and rubbed his arms, his skin finally feeling the cold nip in the air. Pocketing the carton and his lighter, Chris opened the door and entered the apartment. The lights inside had all been turned off, leaving him standing in the darkness. Awkwardly making his way through the darkness, Chris found the hallway and paced his way down to the end. Opening his door, Chris stepped inside his room, shutting the door behind him. A small strip of light made it's way into the room on the floor from where his bathroom was. Jill was in there. With what little light he had, Chris made his way for his dresser. Taking off his jacket and pants, he tossed them into the nearby hamper, leaving him in just his boxers and t-shirt. Opening the dresser he pulled out a large pair of pajama pants and slid them on. Slamming shut the dresser, Chris slunk down onto his bed, pulling the covers over himself. The mattress was soft and warm from the thick blankets that covered it.

The light from the bathroom door went out and Jill stepped into the room. Turning his head to face her, his eyes adjusting to the darkness, he noted Jill's sleepwear: Just a simple shirt, similar to himself, and underwear. Chris had at least figured he should be modest and wear pajama pants. Setting the thought aside, he shifted his body over, turning in her direction as Jill moved under the covers beside him.

"Ooh…" Jill said, sighing pleasantly. "I might have to sleep in here more often. This bed's pretty comfy." Letting out a small laugh, she moved over onto her stomach in an attempt to make herself comfortable.

Moving onto his stomach as well, Chris watched as Jill made herself comfortable. "Think so?" Chris asked, trying to keep his voice quiet.

"Most definitely."

"Well we will see how long that lasts. I have been told I snore," Chris stated.

Jill snorted, a grin forming on her face, "Chris, if I can handle all the bullshit you put me through, I think I can handle snoring."

"What kind of bullshit?" Chris said, scoffing.

"Oh, you know," Jill began, lazily waving a hand around, "typical Chris behavior. Or recent behavior."

Chris frowned over at his partner. "Had to go there, huh?" Next to him, Jill sighed. "Sorry," she mumbled. Silence permeated the room for a few moments before Jill attempted to speak up again. "You want to talk about it at all..?" she asked, her voice cautious and concerning.

"What is there to even talk about?" he asked, saying as if he had said it a dozen times before. "I guess now I have a counselor I have to spill my guts out to tomorrow for that."

Taking a deep breath, Jill bore her gaze into him, a focused look in her eyes, "Nobody expects you to be fine after one session. I don't even know how well this will even work for you. But when you go in, try and do so with a calm mindset."

Chris said nothing. After his and Claire's parents had passed away, the siblings had attempted a few sessions of therapy. It seemed to do better for Claire than it had with him. The temper he held in his youth didn't do much to help himself. With a lifetime of more stress added onto him since the accident, he figured counseling would just be a waste of time. Jill took his silence as an opportunity to speak up again:

"I have been your partner for twenty years," she started solemnly, "I know you know this, Chris, but if its any consolation to you at all, I know what suffering is like. Perhaps in a different way than you do, but we've been through so much together...And you know you can always talk to me if you need me as a support, okay?"

Letting her words sink in, Chris turned onto his side to face her. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he sunk further under the covers, trying to relax his body from it's tense state. "Of course, Jill...I just-..." He stopped himself, searching for the words to speak. "Returning to field work, I just...I don't think I could do it again."

"You're team?" Jill asked quietly.

"Yeah," he said, "It's like this...fear..almost. At first I thought I was just upset because I was so angry with Wesker and Raccoon City. Then I was so stuck being upset because I was tired of losing people and being responsible for them. But then I realized that I was scared of the concept of losing people. I can't deal with the idea of death. I'm fucking terrified by it..."

Jill sighed, turning on her side as well. "Life is a short and fragile existence, Chris...I think you know that better than anyone. You just have to make the most out of it while you can," she said, voiced filled with sympathy.

"Right," Chris said under his breath. "Look, you got work in the morning...We should probably get some sleep."

Turning onto her stomach again, Jill gave a small thumbs up. "Suppose so. Nice different bed should help," she stated with a small chuckle. "Goodnight, Chris." Patting Chris on the back, she placed her arms up under her pillow to prop it up and shut her eyes.

Chris turned away from Jill on his other side, shutting his eyes as well. He wasn't looking forward to the appointment, but maybe falling asleep to the sound of rain and a good nights rest would help. He let out a small huff.

"Night, Jill."

**...**

**...**

_RIP to my Great Aunt Connie, who passed away during the process of me writing this chapter. We love you dearly and we are glad your suffering has finally been put to an end. _


	5. Give Up

_I assure you, I am still alive! To those still up to reading this, many months after a single update, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your extreme patience. I had some major life issues to sort out and I just did not have the time to write at all. Eventually I felt guilty for not updating and forced myself to finish this chapter. There were many re-writes, a lot of frustration, and many months of no progress. With that said, I hope you enjoy this chapter and I hope to start working on this on a faster schedule. _

**_..._**

**_..._**

The lobby to the therapist office was fairly dull to Chris. Pale walls were accented by a couple of scenic paintings in cheap frames. A large houseplant sat in one of the corners over the tiled floors. Four couches, two on each side of the lobby sat facing each other. Chris sat on the far end of one of the couches, Claire sitting beside him pre-occupied with one of the many home improvement magazines strewn on the coffee tables between each of the two couches. The plain atmosphere was made depressing by the other people sitting quietly throughout the lobby. Most of them looking either angry, annoyed, or solemn. Chris sat with his elbow resting on the arm of the couch and his chin resting in his hand. Silently judging the various people in the room, it occurred to Chris that in the twenty minutes he had sat in the lobby waiting, he, like the others in the room, were there for a reason. Checking his watch, Chris sighed, waiting for his name to be called.

What felt like a whole other hour only turned out to be fifteen more minutes when a door opened off to the side of the receptionist window. A tall older man stepped out the door, peering into the lobby through his glasses. Glancing down at a clipboard in hand, he turned his gaze back to the lobby. "Chris Redfield?" he spoke out in question. Chris and Claire both sat up from the couch and looked over at the man in the doorway. Chris raised a hand briefly and stood, glancing at Claire. She gave him a small nod and Chris made his way over to the door. The man smiled briefly at Chris as they stepped back into the hall from which he came, shutting the door back behind them. He opened one of the many doors down the hall and stepped inside.

The office, as it would turn out, was just what Chris hated about his therapist's office as a kid. Overly professional and un-inviting. It looked like a smaller, more personal version of the lobby outside. However this time instead of pictures, the walls held bookshelves that were filled with various psychology and self help books. A few childrens toys sat on the bottom shelf as well. A large couch sat on one end, a recliner nearby, and a desk at the other end near a window. A graduate school diploma hung near the door, bearing the seal of Tufts University.

The man turned towards Chris after closing the office door behind them and smiled again, holding a hand out to him, which Chris responded to with a firm handshake. "Doctor Casey Benson," he said, letting go of Chris' hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you." Chris nodded to acknowledge him and took a seat on one of the couch cushions. Opposite of Chris, Dr. Benson took a seat in the recliner, placing his clipboard across his lap. Dr. Benson had grey hair pushed back and a thick mustache sat below his nose, which above held his glasses.

"Now before we begin," Dr. Benson started, "I will remind you that I am bound under doctor-patient confidentiality. Rest assured anything you tell me in here, will stay in here. Unless of course you admit to anything dangerously illegal, in which case I will need to report you to the authorities." Straightening his back against the chair, Dr. Benson re-adjusted his glasses, finally focusing his full attention on Chris.

"Nothing to worry about there, Doctor…" Chris insisted.

Dr. Benson smiled. "I'm happy to hear that. But in order to break the ice here, why don't you tell me a bit about yourself? The goal here is to not only help, but to make you feel comfortable."

Chris exhaled and glanced down at the floor for a moment. For once he was forced to talk about himself. Jill was the more social of the two. She would have had a much easier time talking to any counselor than he could. In his head, he cursed Jill for sending him here. He wasn't in the mood to be here, but Chris knew that unless he came, he wasn't going to get any better. For Jill, he'd do that.

"I'm…" Chris started slowly, "not very used to talking about myself. Kind of defeats the purpose of therapy, huh?" A nervous look crept on Chris' face and he shifted awkwardly in his seat, averting his gaze. He sighed, realizing this hour long session would go by at a snails pace.

"That's quite alright. We can go at your own pace. Nobody expects you to leave today at 100%. But it's taking that first step that counts." Dr. Benson replied, fiddling with the pen resting over his clipboard. Chris stared down at the floor, rubbing his chin and exhaling deeply. "I guess the best way I can really describe my uh...issues...is by going back to ninety eight."

Dr. Benson nodded. "Rather deeply rooted, it seems?" An eyebrow quirked up as he spoke. He looked however, genuinely interested. "Very," Chris replied. "Anyways, back then I was working for the Raccoon City Police Department…" Dr. Bensons eyes widened as Chris spoke, but remained silent. "Where the uh...viral outbreak occurred…" Chris frowned slightly, taking note of his therapist's reaction.

Dr. Benson glanced down at his clipboard and scribbled down a few notes before looking back up to Chris. "Were you present during the outbreak, Chris?"

"Luckily no, but my younger sister was. She's lucky to still be alive," Chris replied quietly. He thought back to his sister sitting in the waiting room. Claire was a much stronger individual. Had Chris gone down the same route as she had once bioterrorism took its course, he might not have to be here now. Perhaps the BSAA would never have been founded. He never would have met Piers had that been the case. Let alone have to watch as he sacrificed himself for the cause.

Dr. Benson nodded. "I'm sorry she had to go through such a nightmare. The stress that must have caused," he said, his voice sincere and solemn.

"Claire's fine now, thankfully. But ever since then, I have been working to combat bioterror," Chris remarked slowly, leaning forward in his chair, fidgeting slightly with his hands.

"Perhaps alongside the BSAA? I don't know much about counter-bioterrorism, but that's the largest organization that I'm aware of," Dr. Benson offered, a faint smile on his face.

Chris let out a small chuckle. "Almost too good of a guess, Dr... I was one of the founders of the BSAA."

Dr. Benson grinned. "Well then by God, thank you for your service Mr. Redfield. We truly are indebted to the work your organization has done. But yes, I suppose that was a rather lucky guess."

"Thank you, Doctor," Chris said, a faint smile forming across his face. It meant a lot to hear. But in no way could it simply erase all that he had been through. "But unfortunately it all got to my head...When you are in my line of work, you see a lot of shit. And anybody who says they become desensitized is lying. It never gets any easier." Dr. Benson remained silent as he wrote down another note, before speaking up again.

"And Chris, you ended up here because…" Dr. Benson asked slowly and trailing off, studying Chris' face.

"I tried to end my life. My partner found me with the gun and had me hospitalized." Chris leaned back into the couch, staring up into the ceiling. The room sat silent for a moment before Dr. Benson spoke back up.

"Looking back on it, Chris, do you honestly think you would have committed suicide?" Dr. Benson asked, sitting up straight and setting his clipboard aside.

Chris lowered his gaze down from the ceiling and set his eyes on the man sitting across from him. "Yes Doctor. And a gun only needs one bullet to make a point." Chris' eyes were focused dead set on Dr. Benson. Dark, distant, and morose. Silence once more permeated the room for a moment and Dr. Benson let out a small sigh, bringing his hands together.

Dr. Benson opened his mouth to speak again. "War takes it toll on every man, woman and child involved. And like any war, it's unfortunate you would even have to fight it to begin with," he stated. "According to the medical questionnaire you filled out when you arrived, you have been diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. This is correct?"

"Yes," he answered. "It was a few years back."

Dr. Benson responded with a curt nod and crossed a leg over his other leg. "Now as I assume you are aware, PTSD has many symptoms. If you are comfortable with me asking, I would like if you could describe some of them to me." He reached back over to to pick up the clipboard and pen he had set down.

"That's fine," Chris mumbled, crossing his arms across his chest. "I uh...I tend to have a temper regardless...Supposedly outbursts of anger tend to be a common symptom, but for the most part it doesn't really relate to my actual PTSD. For the most part it seems pretty standard. Nightmares are common. Sometimes have flashbacks. That's generally what makes me drink…Um, general depression and feeling detached from everything. Jill says I just seem somber a lot of the time."

More notes were written down across the clipboard Dr. Benson had in his lap. "Jill?" he quizzed. Chris shook his head, shutting his eyes briefly before looking back at the therapist. "S-sorry...Jill is my partner. She worked with me back in Raccoon City. We live together."

"I see," was the quick response Chris received. "Well Chris, those are all certainly symptoms. However in worry of possibly triggering a possible negative emotion out of you, I would ask that should you be comfortable, you tell me more about your time in the BSAA rather than me pushing questions myself," Dr. Benson remarked, pointing his pen in Chris' general direction.

The last thing he wanted to talk about was the BSAA. He imagined a scenario in which he returned home. Jill would ask how the session went. He would reply that he didn't want to tell the therapist anything. To then he would be continuously scolded. He wasn't sure what was worse; having to talk about his past or being scolded for not talking about it.

He sighed, rubbing a large hand over his face. "I don't know where to start, Doctor…"

"Take your time, Chris. We don't need to rush this. You don't have to necessarily start at any particular point either."

From his time in STARS up to the present day, therein lay multiple sources of his depression. If sitting wasting life away with a bottle and nicotine taught him anything, it was that death is inevitable. It just came sooner for others. And that was what scared Chris more than anything. The concept of death. He could accept and embrace its purpose on an everyday scale. He understood that depression could lead to suicide and he was able to accept that. But when it involved people on an individual level and took away those that he loved and cared for…

Chris let out a quick sniffle at the thought, looking back at Dr. Benson apprehensively with a nervous gaze. "Dr. Benson, it's this...fear I have," he informed. "Of..of losing people. Having them die."

Dr. Benson stroked his mustache and goatee, listening intently. "A fear of death?," he questioned. "Do you suppose you are afraid of dying? I know you attempted suicide, but perhaps a part of you internally told you not to do it because of a fear you had in the back of your head."

"No, I would have done it. I'm not scared of dying myself," he said sternly, "I accept that it happens. It's part of life. What I can't accept is _people _dying. People being killed. And people I am responsible for. I can't handle the thought of losing people. It's already happened enough. That terrifies me, Doctor…"

His body shook. It was all coming back to him again. People he could have saved on every mission he ever took. His team in both Edonia and China. Entirely decimated and not a thing he was able to do. The feeling of uselessness was overwhelming, rendering Chris unable to think straight. Unable to move and unable to act. Those casualties of a war he is leading become nothing more than numbers to most, but the numbers do nothing but rise. And behind each number is a face that first looked up to Chris as a war hero and their captain, thinking they would help save the world, instead leaving the world with an agonized scream. And at the forefront of it all, sat Chris Redfield.

"What it sounds like to me," Dr. Benson began, "is thanatophobia. Unlike necrophobia, which is the fear of corpses or anything that _is _dead, thanatophobia is the fear of death itself or the process and or concept of death. And while I can't think of any case in which a patient with suicidal tendencies has had such a phobia, the fear itself is relatively common."

Chris thought the word over in his head. _Thanatophobia. _He had never heard it before. It seemed appropriate enough however. Taking a deep breath, he leaned forward once more in his seat, resting his arms across his knees and watched as the therapist wrote down one more thing onto the paper before him. "While PTSD can be difficult to treat as it can be a very sensitive topic, coming to terms with death is highly do-able. If you are willing to work with me, we may be able to speed up this process of recovery," Dr. Benson reassured.

The near constant state of suffering was difficult. Thinking he had created an easy way out had only made it harder when that option was taken away from him. The crying, the booze, the menthol, and the gun all soothed him, at least temporarily. But as it would appear, Jill nor Claire were ready to give up on him and deem his suffering a lost cause. It was hard to acknowledge or even accept. But Chris looked back up at Dr. Benson and after a few moments, let out a sigh, and nodded.


End file.
